


Secret Keeper

by ultimateparadox



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Jealousy, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimateparadox/pseuds/ultimateparadox
Summary: Dorothea hated Mercedes von Martritz.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Secret Keeper

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-relationship, because I'll probably write more, because uuuuh girls. Dorothea is a little bit of an unreliable narrator because she doesn't know things (yet).

Dorothea hated Mercedes von Martritz. 

She never said it out loud, not to anyone, because she knew how they would react. Soft spoken, devout, and gentle, everyone loved and respected the white mage from the Blue Lions house. Mercedes was always the calm in the eye of the storm of life, garnering adoration from the student body and church at Garreg Mach. The only people held in higher esteem were the lords, and even they had no ill-spoken words for her.

Mercedes von Martritz, a crested commoner, was everything Dorothea wished for.

Commoners with crests were unheard of, yet the blood of Lamine had certainly granted Mercedes a certain amount of clout. Nobleman far and wide, itching for heirs with blessed blood, would flock to her, sweep her from the squalid life of being Lesser. For all the blood, sweat, and tears Dorothea had shed as she clawed her way up from the dirt, she could not forgive Mercedes for having an easy way out.

Somehow, Mercedes seemed to be the only one that noticed that Dorothea hated her. In their scant few interactions, Mercedes was nothing but pleasant. She was polite and always smiling. Dorothea saw, however, the sharpness in her gaze, the look of a woman who knew more than she would say, carried more inside than she would spill. She was a mighty dam of things known and unsaid, and Dorothea saw that it was a threat. The dam could crack at any moment and flood their surroundings and drown them all.

To Dorothea, there was nothing more infuriating and frightening than that placid smile.

She could see it now, if she turned her head. Dorothea, crouched to reach a lower shelf in the library, side-eyed Mercedes as she trailed her fingers over the spines of the books on a higher shelf, looking for whatever reference white mages or Blue Lions required under their interesting new professor’s teachings. Beside her, tittering between the shelves and a table like a little bird was Mercedes’s chirpy friend Annette, another Faerghus noble with more luck in their blood than sense. Still, Annette was a delightful poodle of a girl and Dorothea couldn’t quite dislike her foolish innocence, not when she would brighten the choir with her honest voice. Annette was someone Dorothea could understand, while Mercedes was not.

“Mercie, did you find it?” Annette asked in a rushed whisper so as not to distract the studying library visitors. “How many books about white magic are there? I don’t even know where to start!”

Mercedes chuckled. Dorothea was automatically on guard. With Mercedes’s calm nature, it was difficult to conclude what was condescension and what was not. “Annie, white magic is medical. If you break your foot and someone decides to heal it like a concussion, well, I don’t think your foot is going to reform correctly at all. It’s very nuanced.”

“This is why when we were at the magic academy I studied black magic,” Annette complained, sliding a few thick tomes off the shelf and balancing them in the crook of her elbow. “It’s a lot more reasonable. Pull emotion from you, pull energy from the world, bing-bang-boom.”

“That’s not what you said to Sylvain when he helped you study last week,” Mercedes replied.

“You know about that? Oh!” In her shock, Annette, having stood up on her tiptoes to pull out another promising book, crashed back onto her heels. The book didn’t stop sliding out, causing her to briefly panic, scrambling to catch its weight in a flat palm and overbalanced. Careening to the side sent her into Mercedes, who gasped as she struggled to turn and catch her while keeping her own balance at the same time. She failed, feet slipping, and by instinct Dorothea half-stood, arms held out.

Mercedes’s body collapsed into Dorothea’s grasp. It didn’t concern her. What concerned her was the impact against her face.

Dorothea’s Quest for Marriage at Garreg Mach had led her to hound the nobleman and sons of noblemen for sordid dates. They always turned out less than stellar, their shining personas covered in the slime of snake oil. It had been a while since she’d remembered something very important about the distinction between masculine bodies and feminine bodies.

Flush in her face, Mercedes’s breasts were enthralling and soft.

“Oh, Dorothea,” Mercedes piped up, righting herself. Dorothea took a deep breath before realizing she hadn’t bothered to do so while enraptured. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“Oh no!” Annette squeaked, peering around from her place on the floor, showered in books. 

Dorothea cleared her throat, standing fully. It was almost disorientating, the sudden feeling soaring through her. “Uh, no,” she replied, trying to cover it up. She couldn’t be weak, not in front of Mercedes von Martritz. “I’m fine. What about you two?”

“My pride is more hurt than I am,” groaned Annette, gathering her materials back into a neat pile, an embarrassed little smile on her face. 

“I’m also unharmed. Thank you for catching me,” answered Mercedes. That punishing smile was on her face and Dorothea wanted to read gratefulness in it, but she could hardly tell for sure. Falling for the mask like everyone else was something Dorothea, survivor of all that came for her, would not allow herself to do.

“Don’t mention it,” Dorothea said quietly. She crouched back down to her shelf, pulled out any of the books with her assignment’s keyword on it that she could see, and escaped to a table on the other side of the library. Eyes followed her, but she would not look up. Being the center of attention was nothing.

Later, in the night, Dorothea struggled to sleep. Garreg Mach was wrapped in silence, and the only sound she heard was her sheets as she tossed and turned in them. She thought back to her failed dates since she joined the academy, about how she loathed them, how she wouldn’t dream of letting them lay a hand on her. It had been a while since anyone had touched her, even for a hug, and her mind drifted constantly back to the plushness of Mercedes von Martritz’s big, stupid boobs. Her self-imposed touch aversion had betrayed her on the horniest level, leaving her with wandering thoughts of _girl soft._

Girls were soft, Dorothea conceded to her brain. Girls like Edelgard that were all muscle were soft, girls that were petite like Annette were soft. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t even be indulging the shallow hearts of men at all, but nobility had rules, and nobility required their marriages to produce heirs. It was a price she was willing to pay if she could find a single one of them that she could stomach the presence of for more than dinner. In her pursuit she had momentarily forgotten about the lovely world of women and the incident in the library had been a very fleshy, tantalizing reminder. 

Furious, Dorothea kicked her sheets off. The shift of her nightgown was pulled roughly up and off her shoulders. Humiliated that just one face full of breast had done this to her, and that it was because of the precious, perfect snake Mercedes, Dorothea brought a hand down toward the V of her legs to pull her unders off and then flung herself flat on her back. Another hand ran over the dip of her collarbones and down her side, running over the rounded underside of her own tit. She rolled the full flesh in her hand, feeling her nipple harden against the warm heat of her palm. For a brief second she imagined fondling Mercedes like this, pressing her boobs together and licking a stripe up the canyon between them, and her southbound fingers played in the wetness that followed.

An echo of _‘Oh, Dorothea!’_ hovered in her ears, and if she thought about it in a different context it would be salacious. The hand between her thighs skated across her lower lips and to their apex, running a thumb across the nerves of her clit. Corrupting that honey-sweet voice was a current of lightning in her blood, redirecting her hand to rub furiously over her clit with her fingertips and sending shocks through her trembling thighs. 

Moaning, Dorothea withdrew her hands and turned over onto her stomach. Her pillow was no replacement for the heavenly cradle of Mercedes’s bountiful chest, but it was comfortable against her cheek. She spread her knees wide, balanced herself on one elbow, and brought her fingers back down to her throbbing pussy. She curled them over her mound, ran her middle finger from her clit to her hole, and then teased it inside. She keened at the intrusion, biting back on it after it sharpened into a whine the deeper she plunged. It would be untoward to wake her classmates in the rooms beside hers.

The fantasy, though, of being heard stoked the growing flame in her belly. She added two fingers to her play, imagining Bernadetta laying awake in her bed and aware, or Petra giving her knowing looks the following morning for lessons. Most of all, she imagined Mercedes von Martritz and her glassy smile, those knowledgeable eyes twinkling from across the mess hall, alight with Dorothea’s dirty little secrets.

“Hnnph!” Dorothea whimpered into her pillow, feeling her inner walls clench and release hard around her fingers as her orgasm washed white over her. Heaving for breath, she collapsed into her sheets, shifted in their dampness with a pouty frown.

It was official. Dorothea hated Mercedes von Martritz.

**Author's Note:**

> Why don't these two have supports, Intsys. Why won't you let me have this.


End file.
